Still Into You
by DistrictHeathdene
Summary: Hermione's POV. The war is over and everything is torn apart, but over time, people heal, and love replaces grief. My take on how Hermione handles the aftermath of the war, her friendships and her relationships. Hermione/Ron.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Okay so I know I keep starting new fics when I should be continuing my old ones, but I just _needed_ to write this one! It starts off pretty gloomy but I promise it will get more uplifting as it goes on, it's just starting when they are in a bad place. I hope people enjoy, please review! - J x**

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Ron's hand slips from mine as soon as our feet slam into the hard packed earth. Eight Weasleys, Harry, Fleur and I land in the yard of the burrow; the lopsided, rickety building towering over us, silhouetted against the sky which is a pale grey with the rising sun. The colour fits the mood; everything is a dismal blanket of grey, suffocating us, smothering us with its touch. The war is over, Voldermort is dead, but grief squashes out the relief we were allowed at that thought until nothing else is left and the sickening grey fills up every corner.

Mrs Weasley collapses onto the ground in a fit of sobs which shake her whole body and her husband wraps his arms around her. Ron's tears flow silently down his cheeks and drip into his sister's hair as Ginny clutches at him, her shoulders rising and falling. Bill clasps Fleur's hand so tightly in his own that her fingers turn red but she makes no remark, just lets him hang on to her and wipes tears from his scarred face. Charlie and Percy stand together seemingly unsure what to do, their faces set in the sort of blank mask one has when they are fighting back tears. George had walked away from the group as soon as we arrived, and now his body casts another silhouette against the pale sky.

They lost their son, their brother, and now the grief is taking them. I swallow a lump in my throat. I had known Fred too, loved him even, in the way you can love a friend, love to spend time with someone. He was a joker, mischievous and a trouble maker which outwardly I pretended to despise but secretly I envied the way he could lose himself in mischief and not worry about the consequences, the way I never could. He was smart too, smarter than he liked to let on, I saw it in the quiet moments when he thought no one was paying attention, and heard it in the depth of his words. He was caring and sweet, loving and loved by all. He was too young, but I don't want to say it, because it means the others who died; Remus and Tonks and all of them, were old enough. I feel a pang at the thought of them too but I suppress it, blinking away tears as I watch the grieving family. I grieve for Fred, will miss him, but it is not my burden to bear in the same way as it is for the others, so I stand awkwardly at the sidelines, feeling cold and numb.

I feel someone's fingers slip between my own and squeeze my hand reassuringly and turn round to stare at Harry. He tries to smile at me, but it comes out as more of a grimace. He looks strong, his face set in a hard expression, but tear tracks etch lines into his dirt covered face. I squeeze his hand back, letting him know he isn't alone, standing on the precipice of the Weasley's grief. Both of us bear our own grief, and we will succumb to it later. A sigh escapes my lips and Harry releases my hand, pulling me to his side in an embrace and pressing a kiss to the top of my bushy hair.

"Come on," He says quietly, "We should get them in," I nod solemnly and watch him cross the small expanse of yard to where Mr and Mrs Weasley are curled on the ground together; I watch him bend to their level, place a hand tentatively on their shoulders and whisper to them, gesturing toward the house. I swallow and tuck my hair behind my ears, wincing as my fingers graze a cut on my forehead. I had forgotten it was there, but now I can't escape the stinging.

"Ron," I try, but my voice cracks, dry and pained as it leaves my mouth. "Ron," I say again, louder this time and he looks up at me. His eyes are pink and sore, tears still brimming at his lashes. I want to take him in my arms and kiss away his pain, to sooth his grief and his guilt with my lips and my embraces. But I can't, so I just bite my lip and say "You should go inside, rest," He nods and there is a flicker of new sadness in his blue, bloodshot eyes. My heart skips a beat, wondering if it could be related to me, but I shrug the thought aside. It's disgusting that I might be so selfish after all that's happened. How could he think of me at a time like this? Still, I can't shake the kiss from my mind. I hang my head and follow Harry, Mr and Mrs Weasley and the eldest Weasley brothers inside. Ginny and Ron follow me; George comes in last and goes straight upstairs without talking to anyone.

My heart yearns for him, for anyone who could feel so sad. I wonder what it would be like to have your soul mate ripped from your side. I don't want to know.

I hear the sound of a kettle brewing and soon Mrs Weasley is sat on one of the sofas, a steaming mug clasped between her fingers, Mr Weasley at one side and Percy at her other. She looks a different person than the woman I have known for the last seven years. Her face is full of sadness, all their faces are; grief weighs down the room and threatens to suffocate me. A loud sob escapes my lips and breaks the silence in the room, forcing every pair of eyes upon me.

"Hermione," Ron moves toward me but I shake my head and press my palms to my eyes.

"I'm sorry," I sob again and run from the room, ignoring the calls of my name. I end up in the shower, letting the water run too hot and scald my skin. I don't mind the heat, it feels good even, as if it's searing away not only the dirt, sweat and blood I am covered in, but the pain and the memories of the last year. With the water running I let my tears come freely, their sound masked by that of the shower. I cry for the Weasley's with their family torn apart, I cry for poor Teddy Lupin, the baby who has lost both his parents before he even had a chance to know them properly, he reminds me too much of my best friend. I cry for all the children lost, curious Colin Creevey with his wide eyes and smile, for Lavender who I spent so much effort despising last year and who ended up meeting a savage death. I cry for everyone who has died or has lost the ones they love but mostly I cry for myself.

I haven't seen my parents in over a year, and if I saw them now, they wouldn't recognise me. Worse, it was my own spell that caused it. I know it was for their safety and had I not done that, they most likely would be dead by now, but I let my selfishness consume me and mourn the loss of them. One day I will find them and restore their memories, one day soon, I tell myself. But there is too much to be done first; funerals and rebuilding people's homes, rebuilding whole lives in fact. The people I love in the wizarding world need me and my parents don't even know their own names. They can wait, I try to reassure myself.

I stay in the shower a long time, until my hair is soft and shiny, the dirt and blood has been washed from my skin, and my eyes no longer look puffy and red. Still, my body bears the signs of mistreatment. Over our year on the run, we all lost a lot of weight, I can see that now; my ribs and hips protrude more than they used to, my face looks more sunken. The cut on my forehead has stopped bleeding, but it looks like it will take a while to heal; there are smaller scratches and cuts all over my limbs and yellow and brown patches splatter my pale skin where once purple bruises have begun to heal. Worst of all is the scar on my forearm, still as red and angry as the day I received it. I've started to worry it won't ever heal. I have to stop looking at it before I choke up again; the scrawled letters craved into my skin, a reminder of my torture, of _her_ and of what I am; _mudblood_.

I use a cleaning charm on my underwear and put them back on before wrapping a fluffy, white towel around myself. I don't want to put my clothes back on even if I can perform a charm which would make them as clean as the day I bought them; I don't want to wear those clothes ever again, they remind me too much of what has happened, what I've seen while wearing them. I toss them in the bin on my way out.

When I reach Ginny's room, the room I have stayed in for so many summers and Christmases, I find the extra bed already out and made and someone sitting on it waiting for me.

He blushes a bright red at my lack of clothes and begins to stutter apologies, standing up, covering his eyes with his hands and making for the door. I laugh and place my hands on his arms to stop him before closing the door behind us.

"Ron, it's okay," I giggle despite the circumstances, his presence bringing out a joy in me, however small. I too am a little embarrassed by my outfit, but we lived together for a year, we've seen each other looking much worse. Besides, it's not as if I'm naked. My cheeks flush at _that_ and my hands fly to my face.

"What is it?" Ron grabs my wrists and prises them from my face, worry in his eyes.

"Nothing, I just-" I shake my head and hold his hands in my lap. "No, it's okay. Were you waiting for me?" I change the subject and watch the tips of his ears turn pink, the way they always do when he's embarrassed.

"Yeah, I wanted to see if you were okay," He stutters, avoiding my gaze. "I was worried about you," I snort unattractively.

"You were worried about _me_?" I say incredulously, "Ron, you've had as much to deal with as I have, more even, I-" I stop short when I see the look on his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, his lips mashed in a hard line. "Ron, I'm sorry," I soften my voice, shuffling closer to him and trying to force him to look at me. We stay quiet for a moment before I muster the courage to say it. "I'm sorry about Fred," I whisper and he merely sniffles in reply. I can't think of anything else to say, so I don't. I just wrap my arms around him and pull him close to me, burying my face in his hair. It smells comforting, like he always does.

I breathe in his scent and feel his warmth and turn red when I feel my heart hammering. When did his proximity become able to do this to me? My grip on him falters and I smooth down my wet hair like I do when I'm nervous.

"Hermione?" He asks quietly and I turn to face him. He looks the same as he always did, nose too thin and too long, his hair messy, his long face splattered with freckles, but he looks different too. Different because he is a man now, had to become one too fast what with everything going on, different because of what he has seen and been through. And different because I see him differently. His nose seems to fit perfectly on his face now, his messy hair is endearing and his freckles beautiful. Somewhere along the line Ronald Weasley became something different to me, something more.

He is stubborn and difficult, quick to temper and moody when he does, clumsy and silly, but he is more. He is kind and caring, smart and quick thinking, brave and selfless. He is beautiful. My heart beats faster in my chest. He is beautiful and I kissed him, he kissed me back. He is beautiful and I am sat with him in nothing but my towel and underwear. I could reach out and kiss him, pull him to me like I did before. He is beautiful, but he is my friend.

How can I risk ruining something that we have spent years building? I don't even know what his feelings for me are, he kissed me back, but that was in a moment of passion, fear and irrationality. Maybe he wouldn't have kissed me under normal circumstances, but maybe we wouldn't be who we are under normal circumstances. These are things I need to unravel on my own, things he too needs to work out. It took me years to uncover and sift through my feelings for him, I'm sure he needs his time too.

"Yes?" I finally reply because I left a gap too long after his question.

"I think you're amazing," He says softly, without blushing or stuttering, but with sincerity in his voice. He leans in and presses his lips to my cheek before he stands up. "Get some sleep, yeah? We all need it," Then he leaves me alone in Ginny's room wondering how on earth we are all going to deal with the aftermath of all that's happened.

I don't bother waiting for Ginny and asking to borrow some pyjamas, I don't even bother turning off the light. I just curl up under the duvet in my underwear and to my surprise and relief, fall asleep almost instantly.


	2. Chapter 2

I must have slept through a whole day and a night, because when I wake the sun streams through Ginny's bedroom window with a pale, morning light. Ginny sits on her bed, her hair wet and her towel crumpled on the floor. I notice that she wears a shirt which I have frequently seen on Harry. It's too big for her slender frame and slips off one of her shoulders, revealing an abundance of freckles. She smiles when she sees that I'm awake.

"Oh, hi Hermione, sleep well?" She looks better than she did before, but the sadness is still plain to see on her pretty face.

"Yes thanks, what day is it?" I sit up, pulling the duvet around my shoulders like a cocoon.

"Thursday," She grimace slightly, "Everyone slept a pretty long time, except Mum, and George hasn't even left his room," She sighs and smoothes her hair back from her forehead, securing it into a ponytail with a plain, black band.

"I'm sorry, Ginny," I say softly, reaching out for her hand. She takes it and squeezes it slightly before standing up, restless.

"No, it's, it's how he'd have wanted to go. You know? Doing something good, something to help," Her voice is low and soft, heavy with contained tears. She shakes her head and rearranges her features into a smile. "Do you want to borrow some clothes? I know you don't have any others,"

"Thanks, Gin," I try to smile reassuringly at her but I'm not sure how it comes across.

"Yeah, just help yourself, you can use underwear too, we'll go shopping in a few days time to get you your own, but for now, take whatever, I don't care," She tries to sound cheery but her voice catches and she has to breathe out deeply, the way I do when I try to hold back tears.

"Ginny..."

"I'm gonna go see if Mum needs anything, come down for breakfast in a bit, yeah?" She shoots me another fake smile before hurrying from the room. I sigh. All my friends are upset and there's nothing I can do. I don't know how we're going to get through the next few weeks, months, years. It seems like so much of my life has been dedicated to finding horcruxes, to killing Voldermort, and now that it's done, I feel emptiness rather than relief. Of course I'm relieved he's gone, but so much devastation has been left behind. I suppose now all that's left to do is pick up the pieces, mend our society and mend our broken hearts. It's a task easier said than done.

Ginny's sense of style isn't too different to mine, usually wearing jeans and a shirt or vest, clothes for comfort rather than fashion. I pull out a pair of skinny grey jeans and a long sleeved, light blue shirt. A foolish part of me notes that it is the same colour as Ron's eyes. The outfit isn't so different from what I would find in my own wardrobe, however when I go to look for some clean underwear I find myself blushing profusely. Ginny Weasley is clearly much more adventurous with her undergarments than I have ever been; devoting a whole draw to tiny slivers of lace. I root through them carefully and pick out the most modest pair I can find and a plain bra, my cheeks still burning at finding all her erotic underwear.

I dress quickly and pull my hair back into a braid with a few curled wisps straying around my face. I don't bother to look in the mirror; I don't want to be reminded of how my appearance has deteriorated. It took me a long time to believe I was even remotely pretty, and now whatever small beauty I possessed has been stolen from me by hunger, injury and sorrow. I try not to dwell on my vanity; there are much more important things to be dealt with.

When I head downstairs Mr and Mrs Weasley are sat at the table with untouched plates of food in front of them and steaming mugs by their sides; Harry and Ginny sit opposite them, though their plates are clean. Mrs Weasley jumps up out of her trance when she sees me enter the room.

"Oh, good morning sweetheart!" She pulls me in for a hug, behaving more like her usual self and giving me a sweet smile. "Would you like some breakfast, dear?"

"Thank you, Mrs Weasley. That would be lovely," I smile back politely and she waves her hand at me with a mutter of 'Call me Molly,' before she sets about piling a plate up with rashes of bacon and fried potatoes and placing it on the table for me. It smells so good and my stomach rumbles so loudly that I rudely start right away, eating fast until I've finished everything. No one says anything; I know that Harry at least must have felt the same as me, having gone months without a proper, hot meal. My efforts at cooking wild mushrooms and fish were less than satisfactory, and when the boys stubbornly tried their hand at it, they were even worse. In any case, a good, cooked breakfast is very welcome and Mrs Weasley's cooking has always been excellent. She looks pleased at my reaction to the food and I wonder if she's noticed that the three of us look a lot thinner than when we saw her at Bill and Fleur's wedding.

We haven't had a chance to tell her about our year hunting horcruxes, I don't think any of us really want to. It was us, just the three of us. It was dangerous and terrifying, we went hungry and sick, tensions rose, feelings were hurt, we almost lost Ron, we almost died multiple times, but we had each other, and somehow, against all the odds, we made it. The three of us have always gone through everything together, I don't know how the boys feel, but I kind of want to keep it a secret. I wouldn't even know where to begin anyway.

Harry and Ginny hold hands under the table and share a mushy glance and I blush, remembering the silky underwear in Ginny's draw.

"Percy, Bill and Fleur have gone home," Mrs Weasley butts in, "But Charlie's going to stay for a while. He doesn't want to go back to Romania until after the er," She breaks off and Mr Weasley wraps his arm around her shoulder.

"Until after the funeral," He finishes quietly for her, casting a dark sadness over the table. We sit in an uncomfortable silence until Ron enters the room.

"Smells good, Mum!" He says cheerfully then he notices everyone's downcast expressions and his own face falls, "Oh," Mrs Weasley hastily jumps up and hugs her youngest son.

"Do you want some, Ron? Sorry we ate without you, everyone was just so hungry," She babbles on, brushing tears from her eyes with the edge of her sleeve before she thinks anyone will see. We all politely pretend not to notice.

"That sounds great, Mum, thanks," Ron squeezes her shoulder then looks at me, "I just want to talk to Hermione first," My heart hammers with his words and the intensity of his stare; his blue eyes look at me with a sort of longing and I feel my cheeks hot up. I nod and push my chair out from the table, wincing as the chair squeaks noisily against the floor. Ginny raises her eyebrows at me and Harry smiles encouragingly as I walk toward Ron. Shivers run up my spine as he places his hand on the small of my back to lead me from the room. _Stupid. _This is _Ron_ for God's sake.

He leads me from the kitchen and we hesitate awkwardly on the landing at the top of the first flight of stairs. He scratches the back of his neck and chews on his lip.

"Ron, are you okay?" I ask nervously, wondering what he wanted to speak to me about. The insecure parts of me scream out that I'm about to be rejected, that he's going to tell me our kiss was a mistake, that he doesn't want to ruin our friendship. I agree, I should agree I mean. He's my best friend! I can't let a stupid crush ruin that, but I don't agree, not really, not at all. I don't want to be just friends, I want to be more. My heart hammers against my rib cage so loud I'm worried he can hear it.

"Hermione, look," He begins and I feel tears spring to my eyes and blink them away hurriedly as he bites his nails. He sighs loudly and runs his hand through his hair. He looks so gorgeous when he does that, I think irrationally.

"Oh screw it," He says and before I can puzzle over what that he means, he's leaning in and pressing his lips to mine.

My lips part in a surprised gasp and he deepens our kiss, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me to him. My arms slip around his neck and my fingers curl into his hair as if it's the most natural thing in the world. He pulls away too soon and we are both flushed and embarrassed, wearing small smiles. Without warning I begin to giggle and it feels so good that I can't stop, and soon we're both laughing and hugging, and it feels _so_ good to be happy. It feels as if we can forget about all our troubles and sadness, even if it's just for a brief moment.

The smell of bacon reaches us and Ron's stomach growls loudly. He makes a face and laughs.

"Do you think we could continue this later?" I nod and entwine my fingers with his, quickly grasping his hand before I have to let go and follow him downstairs.

It feels wrong to re-enter the room with a broad grin on my face when everyone else is so unhappy, but my lips spread of their own accord. He likes me! He likes me, he likes me, he likes me. I clap my hands to my face in disbelief and a silly, girlish joy. And to my pleasant surprise, when we come back into the kitchen we are greeted not by the depressing atmosphere which plagued the room only minutes earlier, but with laughter and smiles. Mr Weasley plants a kiss on his wife's cheek as we enter the room, Harry and Ginny's entwined hands rest on top of the table now and they seem to be laughing at something Harry said.

It looks peaceful, happy, normal. I let myself believe for a moment that we can be okay, we will all be okay.


	3. Chapter 3

In my seventeen years I have only kissed a handful of boys. My first kiss was with quidditch star Viktor Krum when I was fourteen. He followed me round for weeks, watching me study and read, offering to carry my books for me and making passing remarks in broken English. When he invited me to the Yule Ball I was ecstatic, I had never had a proper date before, let alone a famous, attractive one. I had never had someone think I was attractive either. After our dance he pulled me aside from the crowds and pressed a sweet kiss to my lips. It was soft and fleeting, romantic and innocent; it made me feel special, but my night was cut short by Ron's anger. Looking back, I suppose it could have been fuelled by jealousy, at the time it only made me distraught.

Next was the muggle boy who lived down my road, Toby Johnson, who I had a summer fling with between fifth and sixth year. He was nice and gentlemanly, but I couldn't tell him anything about who I really was, and most importantly he wasn't Ron. That was when I began to realise my feelings for my best friend, but I suppressed them, based them on hormones, a foolish crush.

Sixth year was the year he kissed Lavender. I remember it all in horrible, vivid detail. I spent so many hours, days, wasting away thoughts on her, using my energy to hate her and think of cruel remarks to put her down. Those memories haunt me now that she is gone, murdered by Fenrir Greyback. I have to keep reminding myself that it isn't my fault she died whenever a memory of her resurfaces, but I still feel guilty for all the negativity I directed toward her. She was silly and annoying, but she was brave when it came down to it. My jealousy blinded me to her good qualities.

Jealousy was the only reason I kissed the next boy; Cormac Mcglaggen. I thought he would annoy Ron most, with his tall, muscled frame, superior attitude and quidditch skills. When he kissed me it was wet and slimy and his hands slipped over my body greedily. I had to hide from him for the rest of the night.

Kissing Ron is not like kissing any of them; my past kisses seem childish and emotionless in comparison. When I kissed Ron, or he kissed me, I felt a stirring in my stomach, a warmth rise through me, as if it actually meant something. His kisses are the only ones which have left me wanting more. And I do want more, desperately. I want to feel his strong arms wrap around me and keep me safe, and his warm lips against my own. I need to breathe in his comforting scent and feel his heartbeat when he presses me to his chest.

"Alright, daydreamer?" Ginny's voice interrupts my thoughts and sends my cheeks a fierce red. I've been immersed in my thoughts for longer than I realised, curled up at the end of one of the Weasley's sofas with a cup of cold tea still wrapped in my grasp. It's where I sat when the group dispersed after breakfast; Ron went for a shower, Mr and Mrs Weasley went to try and coax George from his room and Harry and Ginny went God knows where. So I settled down in comfort to do what I do best; read. But the book had long since slipped from my fingers whilst my thoughts drifted elsewhere and now I scramble to pick it up from its place on the floor as Ginny sits opposite me.

"Thinking about my brother?" She waggles her eyebrows at me and I feel my lips part in surprise.

"I – no, why would you, what makes you say that?" I stutter and take a slurp of my drink only to find it tastes awful at a lukewarm temperature. Ginny snorts and runs her fingers through her thick, red hair.

"Oh come on, I see the way you two look at each other these days. It's all sloppy and disgusting," She winks and I can feel my face taking on a horrified expression. "I asked Harry but he wouldn't tell me, he always has to take the moral high ground that boy, awful," She sighs but she smiles beneath it and I relax slightly, feeling a rush of affection for Harry who kept my secret and for Ginny too. I never had many girl friends, mostly having to deal with Ron and Harry who have the emotional range of a teaspoon between them and are not at all sympathetic to female problems. So when I became closer to Ginny, it was a relief to have someone I could talk to, about silly, trivial things; someone who understood. I can trust her, of course I can, but I still feel odd talking to her about Ron.

"Well, go on then!" She says exasperatedly waving her hands in the air with a hint of melodrama.

"Go on what?" I reply, confused and eliciting an eye roll from my friend.

"Spill, Hermione. Tell me about when you and Ron got all lovey dovey! I mean, we all know you've practically been married since you were eleven, but when did you become official?"

"We're not _official_," I blush, avoiding her gaze. Did everyone really know about our feelings before we did? "We kissed, yes, I mean, I kissed him," I bite my lip to keep from grinning at the memory; it doesn't escape Ginny's notice.

"And you _luuurve_ him!" She giggles in a sing-song voice, jumping up and coming to sit next to me. She nuzzles up to me so her face is right close to mine and I can't escape her gaze. "Oh my God, you do!" She claps her hands in excitement. "Well, personally I think he's a prat, but you're welcome to him if you want him, Hermione." She pauses and makes a face, "As long as you don't use any of my good underwear on him, I'd definitely have to burn it,"

"Ginny!" My voice raises at least an octave and my cheeks burn red, much to her amusement.

"Honestly, Hermione! You're so...innocent!" She laughs at my expression and rolls her eyes.

"I'm not!" I protest though why I don't know. It's true, I've never done more than kiss, and my kisses haven't been overly heated. I liked to pretend it didn't bother me when all the girls in our common room at school were giggling and gossiping about their latest hook-up. When one of them tentatively asked me if I had anything to share, the others laughed cruelly and I had rolled my eyes, immersing myself in my book to hide the ferocious blush in my cheeks.

Of course I knew in my heart that it didn't matter; there were far more important things for me to be worrying about. Not to mention the fact that spending your entire school life with two boys as your best friends sort of lessens their appeal. But still, there was always a part of me that wondered if I was abnormal or just plain undesirable.

I look up through my lashes to see Ginny still staring at me, a tiny smirk playing on her lips.

"Fine," I sigh and then have a thought, "So...have," I clear my throat, "Have you and Harry then?" I ask sheepishly avoiding direct eye contact.

"Hermione Granger!" Ginny's voice rises in mock surprise as she raises an arched eyebrow, "Are you asking me if I'm a virgin?!" She giggles and I meet her eyes to find that they are smiling rather than tinted with shock like her voice suggested.

"Just don't tell Ron," She winks at me, "I'd rather he didn't kill my boyfriend," Her words send another thought through my brain, one I'd been trying to suppress.

"Is...Is Ron?" My voice is barely audible, drowned out by Ginny's snort.

"Oh god, Hermione. I don't even want to think about that, that's something you'll have to ask him yourself," She gets up and pats me on the shoulder lightly. "I'll leave you to your thoughts," She says kindly but her wink before she turns tells me she's still teasing.

I sigh as she disappears up the stairs. I feel foolish, selfish, for thinking of such trivial things as boys when there is so much else to be thought of, so much else to be done. I know I ought to be thinking of my parents and of those who died and I am. I spend all my showers crying over them where I think my tears will be masked, but I can't stop thinking of Ron either.

I push my palms into my eyes to try and clear my thoughts but in the darkness I can only see his freckled face more clearly.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Sorry it takes me so long to upload - J x**

My hand hesitates awkwardly in a fist shape over Ron's door and I have to breathe deeply before I find the courage to knock. When I do the sound of my skin on the wood seems louder than usual and I almost jump. _Stupid._ I'm just going to see my friend, I tell myself. Though it's only partly true, for surely Ron and I are more than friends now. We kissed each other, twice, that must count for something, right? I hope so.

His reply comes from the other side so I push open the door and step inside, blushing intensely when I find him clothed in only his boxers.

"Oh blimey, I thought you were Harry!" His face turns as red as his hair as he scrambles around for a pair of jeans and I giggle nervously. I know I should look away out of politeness but instead I find myself admiring the lean muscles in his back. Ron had always been tall and thin for his age though when we were young he had sometimes had a small layer of puppy fat and a roundness to his face. Now though, all his boyishness has been burnt away by time and exertion and his back and arms show prominent muscles beneath his freckled skin. They are nothing a body-builder would have of course, but their presence and his masculine appearance make my cheeks hot up with an unfamiliar emotion.

As he buckles his jeans he turns back to face me and a smile creeps onto his red face.

"You were checking me out," He states, grinning and I rearrange my features into shock.

"No I wasn't, Ronald!" I take on the tone that I always use when bickering with him but this time, I know he's right. He knows too, I can see it in the way he raises one eyebrow and his blue eyes glitter and he avoids putting on his shirt. I keep my gaze firmly on his face out of embarrassment and stubbornness.

"Put your shirt on, Ron," I roll my eyes and he laughs as he walks toward me. My heart beats faster as he comes closer, placing his fingers on my upper arms and pressing me against the door. He cocks his head and smiles.

"Why? Do I distract you when I'm like this?"

"Ron," I mean to reprimand him but my voice comes out breathier than I intended and my hands move up to touch his pale chest. His grin falls from his lips and his breathing deepens. I feel my own lips part unconsciously as my hands trail from his chest to his broad shoulders and drape around his neck.

"Kiss me," His voice draws my head up with a jolt and our eyes meet. His are the most curious shade of blue, like the sky on a bright summer's day. I curse myself for being so foolish and romantic but I can't deny his request.

I tilt my head upwards and press my lips to his tentatively, surprised when he kisses back deeper, pushing me against the door and taking my face in his hands. I part my lips in surprise and his tongue slips between them to deepen the kiss. I sigh into his lips and lift my hands to twist my fingers into his hair as my heart thrums loud and fast.

He steps away from the door, dragging me with him to his tiny bed with the chudley canons duvet. We tumble onto it giggling and he pulls me on top of him so that my legs are either side of his torso. My stomach flips at our position and I finally understand the girls who whispered about their boyfriends at school, and the way they made them feel; _lustful._ Butterflies swarm in my stomach and I lean forward, kissing Ron so passionately that it takes him by surprise but his hands soon find their place at the small of my back, slipping beneath my borrowed shirt. His hands on my bare skin make me shiver and I impulsively clutch at his chest, trailing my fingertips down his stomach. He moans softly and sits up to remove my shirt by I place my hands over his.

"Ron," I say quietly, rolling off him as he breathes heavily and his face falls. I bite my lip awkwardly and tuck my hair behind my ears.

"You don't want to do this, do you?" I ask him timidly, the moment gone. He looks confused and hurt at my rejection.

"I want you, Hermione," He frowns, "But I mean, if you're not ready, of course I won't-" I stop him by pressing my fingertip to his lips, a sad smile upon my face.

"It's not that, it's that I think you want this for all the wrong reasons, to escape your grief," I avoid his eyes as I speak and watch him swallow a lump in his throat. He doesn't reply and when I look up I see that his perfect eyes have glazed over with tears.

"Oh no, Ron, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," I take his hand in mine and squeeze it in an attempt at reassurance. "It's going to be okay, you know. Not today, not tomorrow, not for a long time, but you're going to be happy again one day, okay? I'm going to make sure of it," He smiles though a tear drips from his lashes and runs down his cheek.

"I'm happy when I'm with you, Hermione," I feel warm at his words and his smile and I press my lips to him in a gentle, fleeting kiss. It tastes of his tears but I don't care.

"I'm glad, Ron," I curl up into his side and he holds me tight, his tears dripping into my hair as he grasps my hand.

"I think I love you, Hermione," He whispers so quietly I'm not sure if he meant me to hear. I make an unattractive sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

"Well then, I think I love you too, Ronald," I reply just as quietly and we just sit for a while, safe in one another's embrace.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Sorry that it's sad! Hope you enjoy - J x**

I sit on a plain wooden chair in a sea of black-clad, crying people. My own eyes are also wet with tears, though I seem heartless compared to those surrounding me. I sit between Harry and Luna, the former clutches my hand tightly in his own with a grim look on his face and tears welling at his lids, the latter is sobbing softly behind an over-the-top veil. Surrounding us are the friends and family of Fred Weasley; his relatives distinct from the rest by their red hair, though everyone wears expressions in various states of grief. Only three weeks have passed since the battle and his dreadful loss but the Weasley's wanted to hold the funeral sooner rather than later.

I suppose it makes it seem more real, having the funeral. And though hard, it's an important part of carrying on.

The funeral is held at a little church atop a hill in the village of Ottery St Catchpole where the Weasley's live. The church is beautiful really; the walls are made of a pale grey stone with high arched windows filled with stained glass depictions of bible stories. I never knew the Weasley's to be religious, but it is a beautiful place to lay your son, close to home. A sob escapes my lips at the thought and Harry squeezes my hand tighter. I never knew Fred that well, but it hurts to know that I will never see his smiling face again. Most of all it hurts to see the people I love in so much pain.

The Weasley family sit in the front pews, Mr and Mrs Weasley clutching at each other, Bill and Charlie with their arms wrapped around George, Percy with tears steaming up his horn-rimmed glasses and Ron and Ginny clasping hands. I sit in the pew behind them, with the rest of their lovers and closest friends. Fleur looks exquisite even in tears and I watch her reach forward to touch Bill's shoulder reassuringly. Then it is Harry and I, Luna and Neville, even Hagrid is there, though he takes up two seats with his great frame and his sobs echo around the hall.

The service is read by a wizard in long black robes who waves his wand and creates golden sparks which read Fred's initials, then he magics a wreath of flowers and offers it to Mrs Weasley, telling her she can place it on the grave.

Outside the sun has blessed the day and the sky is a beautiful blue as the casket is lowered into the grave. I clutch at Harry's side and let my tears fall into his shoulder as they pour the dirt back onto it. The headstone is made of a pale stone with Fred's name and dates and beneath the words "_A beloved brother and son_" is the inscription "_Mischief Managed_" surrounded by tiny engraved stars. I smile a little at the familiar saying and steal a glance up at Harry only to find him exchanging a look with George, who smiles through his tear splotched face. It must have been Harry's idea to put the words on the stone. The idea and George's acceptance of it makes my heart feel a little warmer.

Mrs Weasley lays the flower wreath on the mound of earth in front of the stone and pulls out her wand. As she waves it the blossoms grow and weave themselves up around the stone and into the ground, embedding their roots there so that they will always remain and Fred will always be shrouded in beauty.

Once she is done George clears his throat and steps forward.

"I'd like to say a few words," His voice sounds strained from his sobs and so heartfelt and pained that my own throat tightens. "Fred was a beloved soul to all of us," He begins loud and clear so that his voice carries across the crowd of us who gather there, "He was a treasured friend who could light up the room just with his presence, or with his smile or a joke. He was a joker, we would get into the worst sorts of trouble," He laughs and wipes his nose, "I still remember the time we glued Filch to his chair! But he was more than that, most people will remember him for his incredible sense of humour, the fun he brought to everyone's lives; but I hope you will remember him for everything that he was; kind, compassionate, smart, loyal, brave and loving. He was more than my brother, he was my best friend; the best person I ever had the luck to know. Twenty years was not long enough to spend with a man so incredible, so true, but I feel blessed to have spent all my twenty years by his side. If he were here now, he would laugh at me for being such a sap, but it's true, all of it. I only wish I'd told him more often before the end. Every day that I get up and look in the mirror I will think of you and I will think of how I am a better person for knowing you and for being your brother. You will be in all our hearts forever, I love you Freddy,"

He finishes his speech with a sob and with a flourish of his wand the sky comes alight with a rainbow-spectrum of colours as hundreds of fireworks burst in the air. They burn so bright and colourful that they are clear even against a daytime sky. When they fizzle to a stop, Fred's name is left hanging in the sky in smoky letters. He would have loved it.

At the end of the speech and the firework display the mourners disperse and pay their respects to the grave and offer condolences to the family. I wait until the crowd has thinned to find Ron, crouching by the headstone with George. I feel as if I'm intruding so I hang back alone and watch them but George notices me and gestures for me to join them. The sky is darkening by now but Fred's name remains in the sky, turning a shimmering gold as the light fades. I wonder how long it will last.

"That was an incredible speech, George," I reach out and squeeze his hand and he smiles slightly.

"Thanks, Hermione, I appreciate it," He squeezes back and then releases my hand so I can embrace Ron. The skin around his eyes is red and swollen and the cuffs of his suit jacket are wet where he's used them to rub away his tears. I lean forward and press a kiss to his temple.

"You are so brave," I whisper so that only he can hear then I lean away and take George's lead to stand up. I turn to see Harry and Ginny walking toward us hand in hand. Both have sore, red faces but Ginny still looks as beautiful as ever. George pulls out his wand once more and before my eyes five small shot glasses appear, floating full to the brim with a liquid that looks suspiciously like fire whiskey. When I cast him a glance he smirks.

"Oh come on, Hermione. Let's get totally smashed, you know it's what he'd have wanted," We all laugh, and it's nice to smile rather than cry, even if the sound is tense and dry. We each take a glass and lift them high.

"To Fred," George says.

"To Fred!" We all cheer in reply. The whiskey burns my throat on the way down and fills me with its warmth.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Short chapter but still. Enjoy and please review! - J x**

At the burrow, everyone is drunk, George having produced enough shots for everyone and other people following suit and summoning beverages of their own. Hagrid, Bill and Charlie had started up a round of some old drinking song and were now swaying with their arms around each other, occasionally shouting "For Fred!" Fleur and Mrs Weasley are slow dancing to a Celestina Warbeck song, tears in both their eyes while Ginny and Harry kiss in a corner much too passionately for my liking and Mr Weasley tries to engage me in a conversation about muggle appliances.

"So, Hermione," He slurs as he leans forward to look me in the eyes, I can tell he's being sincere but the drink has taken its toll. I can't say I blame him though, it was the easiest way to escape grief and it's true that Fred loved a good party, especially one in his honour. Even I have had some alcohol and am beginning to feel the effects.

"Tell me," Mr Weasley continues, "How does the telephone work without magic?" His expression is so honest and curious that I can't help but burst out laughing. His confusion only makes me laugh harder and it feels so _free_! So _good_! Someone changes the song to something more upbeat and I decide that I definitely, absolutely, have to dance. It doesn't matter that I dance alone because soon Angelina, Fred's old girlfriend and ex-captain of Gryffindor quidditch team joins me, taking my hand and twirling while we giggle. Then Luna starts with her own interpretative dancing which involves doing a dance halfway between zumba and the fox trot with an imaginary partner. I'd never imagined that my first time getting drunk would be cramped in the tiny kitchen of the Burrow, or in the aftermath of a funeral for that matter, but things never do go as planned.

Our dancing is interrupted by Ron's loud shout and I look round to see him standing on the dining table, a drink raised high in his fist. Under any normal circumstances Mrs Weasley would give him a serious reprimand but now she just falls into fits of laughter.

"I just wanna say," Ron begins, spilling his drink as he sways, "That Fred was the best goddamn brother in the world! Sorry, the rest of you are pretty good but, I love you Fred! Wish you were here!" He creases his eyes and shakes his head before downing what's left in his glass to the whoops and cheers of his family and friends. He hops down from the table, well, stumbles really, and walks over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist.

He is still wearing the suit he wore to the funeral but he's removed the jacket and loosened his tie. He smells of his aftershave and spirits as he leans toward me smiling.

"You know, I _really_ want to kiss you," He locks his arms around me and presses me to his chest and I don't care that we're both drunk out of our minds or that everyone is watching, I don't care, _I don't care_.

"Well, don't hold back," I giggle as I look up at him through my lashes. The world seems to be swaying slightly, though whether that's due to my consumption of alcohol or just his presence I wouldn't know. All I know is that when he kisses me, I don't ever want him to stop.


End file.
